I will not be afraid of your scars
by minachandler
Summary: Laurel Lance learns what it means to make love. Smut.


_I am not the first person you loved._

 _You are not the first person I looked at_

 _with a mouthful of forevers. We_

 _have both known loss like the sharp edges_

 _of a knife. We have both lived with lips_

 _more scar tissue than skin. Our love came_

 _unannounced in the middle of the night._

 _Our love came when we'd given up_

 _on asking love to come. I think_

 _that has to be part_

 _of its miracle._

 _This is how we heal._

 _I will kiss you like forgiveness. You_

 _will hold me like I'm hope. Our arms_

 _will bandage and we will press promises_

 _between us like flowers in a book._

 _I will write sonnets to the salt of sweat_

 _on your skin. I will write novels to the scar_

 _of your nose. I will write a dictionary_

 _of all the words I have used trying_

 _to describe the way it feels to have finally,_

 _finally found you._

 _And I will not be afraid_

 _of your scars._

 _I know sometimes_

 _it's still hard to let me see you_

 _in all your cracked perfection,_

 _but please know:_

 _whether it's the days you burn_

 _more brilliant than the sun_

 _or the nights you collapse into my lap_

 _your body broken into a thousand questions,_

 _you are the most beautiful thing I've ever seen._

 _I will love you when you are a still day._

 _I will love you when you are a hurricane._

 _~Mouthful of Forevers, Clementine von Radics_

The candles in Laurel's fireplace burn hot, bright, bathing the living room in a soft yellow glow. It's a warm night, and the heated breeze that rushes in through the open window makes the candles flicker. Somehow, though, despite this, all the flames remain intact, but all this goes completely unnoticed by the apartment's two occupants.

Her face buried between Laurel's legs, Nyssa is on her knees, supporting Laurel's thighs with her arms. On the couch, Laurel's sure her heels are digging into Nyssa's back, now, but she can't help it - with a keening cry she comes once, but Nyssa doesn't stop what she's doing with her tongue and the pleasure slices through Laurel, razor-sharp, and it feels so good it almost hurts. She's grateful when Nyssa seems to realise this and she lightens her touch a bit, and Laurel reaches down, strokes Nyssa's jaw, threads her fingers through Nyssa's hair.

Laurel can't remember a woman ever going down on her before. But then she can't remember Nyssa, either. It's different - better, softer, somehow. Nyssa certainly knows what she's doing, seems to know all her weak spots - but then of course she would. It's like Nyssa's got a cheat sheet, but Laurel's more than content to lie there and let her use it.

"God, _Nyssa_..."

"Ya Laurel," Nyssa murmurs back, right into her thigh. And then without warning the flat of her tongue is on Laurel's clit, and Laurel's sure she's screaming, now, as pleasure - tortuous, white-hot - surges through her and she's sure her lungs are going to give out when finally she reaches such a high that she feels giddy as she exhales softly, floating gently back to earth. Nyssa reaches up, lifts the hem of Laurel's shirt so she can rest her head on Laurel's exposed stomach.

"Wow," Laurel can't help but say. She gives Nyssa a second, to breathe, and then she can't resist tugging at Nyssa's arms so Nyssa is level with Laurel once more, so Laurel can kiss her. And it's strange, tasting herself on someone else's tongue, after what feels like forever, but it only takes her a few moments to adjust to it. "Your turn," Laurel murmurs to her, as her fingers dip underneath Nyssa's navel.

But at this Nyssa pulls away, though still resting her forehead against Laurel's.

"Please don't feel as though you have to."

"I know I don't," Laurel says. "I want to."

She's not lying. Some primal part of her is alive, now, and is desperate to taste Nyssa, tear what's left of her clothes off, to do all the things that lovers do.

"Are you sure?" Nyssa asks, but she lets Laurel steer her onto the couch nevertheless.

"I don't really know what I'm doing," Laurel admits, "but I'll figure it out. But, uh, first, can I take this off?" Her fingers go underneath Nyssa's bra strap, and Nyssa nods, letting her unclasp her bra and toss it aside. "Lie back."

"I am usually the one giving orders," Nyssa says, and Laurel laughs, because Nyssa still does what Laurel says. Her breasts jut out, plump and beautiful, her nipples dark and stiffened with arousal.

She considers for a moment, then kneels, parting Nyssa's thighs for her and then situating herself between Nyssa's legs. She presses a kiss on Nyssa's bare breast, and then another, until her mouth is covering the centre of Nyssa's breast. Her lips enclose her nipple, and she lets her tongue flick out, and Nyssa moans a little at that. Laurel does it again, licks at her nipple, and then, daringly, she sucks down, and at this Nyssa arches into her with a gasp.

Almost too soon, Laurel releases Nyssa's breast, letting her hands roam down Nyssa's abdomen. Her body is covered in scars, most of them faded but some of them darker, more recent. Her torso is like a map, and the scars paths that Laurel can't remember ever treading.

Now, though, Laurel's fingers take tiny, light steps across the walkways of every battle Nyssa's faced. Laurel's learning them, every inch of her, committing the long intricate patterns written on her skin to memory, fingertips dancing on bare flesh. Nyssa hardly moves beneath her touch, but Laurel can feel Nyssa's eyes burning into the back of her neck and then Laurel runs her tongue along the jagged path of what looks like the remnants of a recent sword fight that didn't go her way and Nyssa exhales sharply.

She kisses down Nyssa's abdomen, marvelling at how toned her stomach is, and then she looks up at Nyssa, asking permission as her fingers hook around the waistband of her pants. In answer Nyssa's fingers cover hers and they pull down the garment together, revealing black panties. Laurel reaches up, touches Nyssa through her panties first, and _God_ , she's so wet already - the cotton is soaked, and when her finger pushes at her entrance through damp fabric Nyssa whimpers. Laurel looks up, meets Nyssa's eyes, and Nyssa's gazing down at her rapturously, with such shining utter devotion in her eyes that Laurel wonders what she's done to ever deserve someone so loving.

(She can't remember Nyssa, or loving her, but Laurel will relearn all of her if she has to. And if Nyssa is going to look at her like that then she has to.)

"Can I… taste you?" Laurel asks quietly. And again Nyssa doesn't say anything, just grabs both Laurel's hands with her calloused ones and places them on her hips. Laurel slips her fingers inside the elastic of her panties, tugging them down slowly, and she manages to get them to knee level before the urge becomes too much and she slides her finger inside Nyssa.

It goes in easily, and Nyssa groans softly at her touch, and she groans again in protest when she withdraws her hand. But then Laurel can't help but put her finger in her mouth, and _fuck_ , she tastes so good and sweet. Laurel longs for more but wants to take her time, so she presses her face against Nyssa's thigh, breathing in her warm sweet scent. She opens her mouth, letting her tongue swipe at Nyssa's thigh, and she doesn't mean to but her teeth sink into her skin and Nyssa's muttering something in Arabic, now, something so unintelligible and yet still music to Laurel's ears.

Laurel does it again, biting at the inside of Nyssa's thigh, and this time Nyssa spreads her legs wider, and as she does so there's a loud tearing sound as her panties still around her knees rip in two. Nyssa doesn't seem to care, though, letting the torn bit of fabric fall to the floor, and as Laurel's tongue flicks out she realises the wetness of Nyssa's arousal has leaked down the inside of her thigh. Laurel laps it up greedily, suddenly hungry for her, and then she can't stand it a second longer. She positions her mouth against Nyssa's entrance and gently presses a kiss on it, and Nyssa moans encouragingly.

"Again," Nyssa whispers, and Laurel obeys, letting her tongue flick out this time, and _fuck_ if isn't totally doing it for her to know that that stickiness dripping onto her tongue and down her chin is _all_ for her. She's not entirely sure what she's doing, but she's always been quick to learn, and it seems simple enough. Her tongue darts out to taste Nyssa, and she feels Nyssa's fingers spear through her hair, now, just as Laurel's mouth finds Nyssa's clit. Laurel lets out a little _oh_ of surprise, taking a moment to get used to the feeling of it, and she realises as she sucks down how swollen it is.

Nyssa is quieter than Laurel, by far, and it starts to worry her. "Is that okay?" Laurel says, raising her head to look up at Nyssa, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand.

"More than okay, samaya," Nyssa replies. "It is just… an assassin thing."

"You don't have to hold back with me," Laurel says, and she means it. "You can trust me. Like I trust you."

"You are not afraid?" Nyssa asks.

"Of what? Your scars?" Laurel shakes her head. "I… let me tell you. You are… the most beautiful thing I have ever seen." Nyssa just looks away, though, looking pained even as her eyes light up. "You don't believe me?"

"I never have been able to," she says at last, and she's been naked for a few minutes but it's only now that Nyssa seems truly exposed.

"I know it's hard," Laurel says, "to let me see you in your… cracked perfection. But I mean it. You say I loved you?"

"Somehow, yes."

"Then you should know - nothing about love ever scared me." And Laurel reaches up now, tucks Nyssa's hair behind her ear. "Let me show you," she says softly.

Laurel closes her eyes, lowers her head, and slides her fingers inside Nyssa once more. Nyssa arches her back at her touch, and when Laurel's fingers finds her clit again and they pinch at it she can feel Nyssa's walls tense around her. And then Laurel's tongue is where her fingers were, and Nyssa's breaths come out quicker, more laboured, and Laurel reaches up, searches for Nyssa's hand, and when she finds it their fingers lace together so tightly it's almost painful. Laurel doesn't stop what she's doing, though, and continues to lap up every drop of her sticky arousal, not stopping until Nyssa's body finally shudders to a halt and the last vestiges of her orgasm leave her in muttered Arabic.

Laurel wipes her mouth with her free hand, watching as Nyssa lies back on the couch, spent.

"I love you," Nyssa is whispering. "I love you, I love you, I love you."

"I know you do," Laurel replies gently. "I know you do, Nyssa."

She stands up, and after a second she decides to straddle Nyssa's lap. Laurel's wet after seeing Nyssa get off - that much she can feel, and Nyssa can feel it too, judging by her moan moments after Laurel puts one leg on either side of Nyssa's waist. Her wetness drips onto the tops of Nyssa's thighs, and Laurel grinds down on Nyssa's pubic bone, making her gasp. Then Laurel pushes at Nyssa's leg so there's a gap, large enough for Laurel to shift and put her leg in the middle. She's straddling Nyssa's right thigh, now, and _God_ does it feel good, Laurel's sensitive clit rubbing against the hot flesh of Nyssa's thigh.

Nyssa tugs at the hem of Laurel's shirt, lifting it up and over her head. Her bra is next, and then Nyssa grasps firmly at Laurel's ass and brings her closer, so her bare breasts are flush against Nyssa's. Nyssa keeps her hands there, squeezes, and Laurel gasps at that, feeling a white-hot sensation at her clit. She tightens her legs around Nyssa's thigh, before leaning in, feeling her nipples grow erect as they press insistently against Nyssa's breasts. Laurel kisses her, then, and she moans in protest when all too soon Nyssa pulls away. But then seconds later Nyssa's lips are on Laurel's cheek, then her neck, licking her way down her collarbone all the way to her breast. Pleasure ripples through her and increases tenfold when Nyssa catches Laurel's nipple between her teeth; Laurel gasps sharply, squeezing her legs together around Nyssa's thigh to try and satiate the throbbing sensation in her groin. It works, at least a little bit, so Laurel grinds down harder, feeling herself get hotter, wetter, and her arms tighten around Nyssa's neck as Nyssa's fingers find themselves inside Laurel once more, three of them curling inside her walls and making Laurel cry out.

And then Laurel is throwing her head back and screaming at the ceiling, and Nyssa's urging her on, murmuring words of Arabic until at last Laurel's pushed over the edge and she collapses in Nyssa's lap, her body broken into a thousand questions. Nyssa's fingers still inside her, and she slowly withdraws them, bringing them to her mouth and sucking them clean.

Their eyes meet, and Laurel's overwhelmed by all the things she wants to say to Nyssa - she wants to whisper prayers of adoration in her ear and get down on her knees to write sonnets to the salt of sweat trickling down her thigh; she wants to trace the paths of her scars a thousand times and it still wouldn't be enough to tell her what she wants to say.

For an eternity, for what seems like at least several long candlelit days, they just gaze at each other, Laurel drowning in the warm brown of Nyssa's stare as Nyssa's fingers trace slow, lazy circles on Laurel's back.

Then, at last, Laurel speaks.

"I finally found you," she says softly.


End file.
